An Unwanted Reunion
by Spadey
Summary: 6 years after the strike the newsies had gone their separate ways. But after a tragic event the newsies are reunited on not the happiest of circumstances.
1. Not So Friendly Fire

**An Unwanted Reunion  
by Spadey**

_DISCLAIMER:I dont know newsies. and i dont know any one that owns any of the rights to it. I am not part of Disney...too bad.I do own Duke and Griffin._

_**A/N:**Please realize this takes place in the year 1905, six years after the strike. If you dont you'll be lost._

**Chapter 1. Not So Friendly Fire**

Slowly, the think black cloud tumbled into the room sighlently. Under the door and through the tiny cracks it squeezed its way in without making a noise. The smoke poured over the wooden floor and dissipated into the air making a grey haze. It twisted around the legs of the rickety bunks and over dozenes of slumbering bodies. It started to come in thinker and thinker, now compleatly aroudn the rim of the door. The smoke had claimed the dark bunkroom and accumulated thinker and thicker.

Giggles came form the fire escape as Griffin kissed his girlfriends nose again. He playfully grabbed the sash around her waste and she replyed with another giggle. She sifted her had through Griffin's curly brown locks as she stole a kiss.

Griffin grinned and kissed her again while taking a deep breath. His eyes flung open and he pulled away. The girl stared at him, confuffused.

"Whats the matter?" She asked watching him.

He put his finger over her mouth "Shh. Be quite for a minute.."He looked around rather uneasy and took a deep breath. "Smoke. do ya smell it?"

The young girl sniffed the air once. twice. She nodded and let go of him. "Yes.." Griffin ran over to the window that led into the bunkroom. The moonlight was dim and he fumbled a bit to find the latch. His fingers felt the cool metal peice and he flung the window up, and let out a caugh as a black cloud flew at his face. "Stay there." He crawled into the room caughing as he breathed the unpure air, the room was hazy, yet no one had woken up.

Griffin ran across teh room and pulled the hall door open. smoke poured in rabidly and he slammed it back shut. "FIRE! GET UP YA DUMB ASSES!" HE started to screem slapping peoples feet, shoving, punching, anything to get them up.

People sat un drowsy but with one wiff of the oder they sprang out of their beds in sheer panic screeming and pulliung on shoes, pants, gathering belongings and running to the fire escape lines windows. There was sheer panic as they all tryed to clamber out to safty. The littler boys were crying, the older ones cussing.

Slowly the boys made there way onto the fire escape. It was the fire escape they had used for everything but its actual purpose- until now. On the street they had assembled into a pathetic group, surrounded by curious neighbors, hobos, and other people of the night. They all watched horrifyed as the lodging house was engulfed in flames.

Some of the boys sat on the ground in awe as they watched there house fall down. A little boy in his undergarments started to cry histericaly calling out for his lucky hat he had left behind.

Griffin brushed the sweat from his forehead, he was overwhelmed. His girlfriend was doing all the crying for herself and him as he just looked around at the crowd that hat assembled to watch the flames.

"Griff.." Duke placed his hand on his friends shoulder. He was a tall rather stout boy topped off with blonde hair that poked out from under his derby and covered his eyes. Griffin turn his head and raised an eyebrow.  
"Is everyone out?" Duke asked in a concerned tone.

Griffin eyed his friend, noticing now he was absent of a shirt and missing a boot. "Poor guy didnt get a damn chance ta get 'is clothin'.." Griffin thought before he spoke, "I dunno. Its impossible ta count wit out da ledger. We dunno how many hadden't come in for tanight.." Duke nodded and looked at all the newsies scattered about.

"I dont see one person I know was 'ere though.." Griffin turned around looking at Duke whos face had compleatly fallen into a horrifyed expression. "Wheres Kloppman...?"

Griffin gasped and started to search the crowed frantically. Duke frowned saddly at the lodging house and began siffting the crowd in hopes to hind his old friend Kloppman. The fire wagons arrived about the same time and began pumping water on to the building. The street was compleatly lit now from the flames which had now engulfed the second floor and were spreading to the neighboring building. The newsies started on, shivers climbing up their spines, as they watched their home crumble.

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_**A/N:**dun dun dun suspense! anyways dont worry movie characters WILL show up in the next chapter _


	2. The Morning Edition

**Chapter 2: The Morning Edition**

James fumbled with his keys and tried jamming one into the lock. He cussed quietly when it didn't fit, "Damn it.. too many stupid keys.." He shoved another in and forced to turn and flip the lock with a faint 'click'. A triumphant look smeared across his face and he shoved the door, which had "BOOK STORE" neatly painted in block, open.

The store was small and crowded. Each wall was covered in books from floor to ceiling (which were only in addition to the bookcases set up all over the floor). It was dimly lit and rather dusty; some cobwebs were hiding in the corners and across books on the higher shelves.

James was a tall man. He was neatly dressed, clean and tidy, other than the raggedy derby that rested a-top his head. He went behind the front desk and prepared the cash register for the day's business.

The door chimes rang and James adverted his attention to the woman who entered the shop. She too was cleanly clothed in a grey dress and her brown hair pulled tightly back into a bun, a few wisps fell over her ears. James grinned at her as she approached the desk.

"I brought your breakfast, you left again without eating." She huffed at him in an irritated tone.

He ignored her comment and picked up a stack of books. "Meg, can you manage those books?" He flicked his head towards another stack, "We've got a whole bunch of fiction to be shelved." Meg nodded and proceeded to pick up the novels and follow James to the fiction shelves located in the opposing front corner. James set out to shelve the books immediately. Meg stared at him for a minute as she set down her cumbersome load. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a muffin wrapped in some white butcher paper.

"James..you need to eat. I swear your gonna starve yourself.." She shoved the muffin at him.

He swatted it away and thrust a book onto a self. "I don't want it..I aint hungry." She glared at him with a 'don't question me' look and he sighed. "Fine! I'll take the stupid thing!" He snatched it out of her hand and adjusted his spectacles. He took a big bite "Mmmmmmmmmm!" He rubbed his stomach mockingly at Meg.

"Oh shut up!" She shoved him playfully and his derby flew off. They both dove for it but Meg snatched it before him and out of his reach. "HAHA! Its mine! Your never gonna see your ugly hat again!" She giggled holding a hand to her mouth.

"Hey hand it over!" He reached for it but she hugged the chunk of felt and turned her shoulder so it was out of reach. "Common I need it!" He pleaded.

"Hodge podge!" Meg huffed, "It is rude to wear a hat indoors. Any TRUE gentleman would be aware of this."

He twisted his face at her comment referring to the etiquette he never learned. "Well I guess I ain't gentle enough for you, so hand it over." He thrusted a hand out towards her.

"No!" She objected and perched herself on a stack of novels.

"My hairs not combed, I look unsightly--"

"This ugly HAT makes you unsightly! Don't be giving your hair too much credit!" James patted his brown hair with his hands trying to calm it. Meg looked at the ugly hunk of beaver pelt in her hands. It was at one time a quality derby, but over time and continued use, and misuse for that factor, had turned it into a fashion crime. The ribbon around the crown was fraying, the lining half missing, and the felt itself was torn, ripped, thin, bent, and warped. There was nothing attractive about the hat. She flipped it over and looked at what was left of its silk entrails. The word "specs" was messily printed along the rim and she brushed her finger over it.

"Can I please have it? I feel naked with out it.." James broke Meg's concentration.

"Can I buy you a new one?" She replied, "This is a disgrace to the beaver that was used to make it!"

The horrified look on James' face was priceless. It looked as though he was between lunging at her and crying at the mere thought of leaving the stupid thing. "No! I am never giving that thing away, or replacing it!" She held it out for him and he quickly grasped it and planted it back on his head. He then added, "It's one of the only things I have from my childhood..."

Meg smiled at him and rested her head on her hand. She studied James who had gone quiet and contently placed books on the shelves. She watched him intently with dreamy eyes for a few moments. Finally, her high voice broke the silence, "Specs.." She addressed him simply.

Slowly James turned. His face had a half smile and Meg looked at his eyes which had a happy gleam in them. "I haven't been called that in so long.." He signed and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

Meg just smiled back at him without making a word. James too stared at her. He scooted closer to her and gave her a peck on the cheek. Meg let out a giggle then in one fast motion pulled the derby off his head again and skipped across the store. James..er Specs, ran after her laughing as well and caught her waste. She pushed the hat back over his hair and he stole a quick kiss. They both laughed and pushed their foreheads together.

"Ew...I nevah wanna get old.."

The couple quickly let go of each other and turned their attention to the door. Two small newsies were staring at them with disgusted expressions. One was short and rather stout, looked like he was about 8 years old. The other, the one who spoke, was a boney runt, he too looked 8. They both were holding a bundle of papers under their arms.

James was bright red, as was Meg, as he approached the boys.

"Yer delivery fer taday, mistah.." The boney one said and James took the bundles form their arms and set them to his side. He fished through his pockets and gave each of them a few silver coins. They counted it and grinned, "Thank ya mistah!" and ran out of the store as fast as they had arrived.

James turned around and started laughing. Meg covered her mouth with her hands and giggled as well.

"Your always getting me into trouble!" Meg hit James lightly on the arm and vanished back to the fiction corner.

He grinned at her as he untied a bundle of papers. "That's what you get fer marryin' a hoodlum like me!" He snickered and started to study the days headlines. He thumbed through the pages looking for anything remotely interesting. On about the fourth page there was an article about a fire somewhere in Manhattan. James looked it over and the address caught his eye, "234 Dune Street.." he read it aloud. His face was in pure shock. Could it be? It couldn't...His knees started to shake and James toppled over bringing a desk down with him.

Meg ran back over to him. "James! What the happened? Are you ok?.."She went on with twenty questions and tried to hoist her husband up.

Meg looked into James's eyes. Tears started to well up in the corners. "James.."she started quietly placing her hand on his cheek, "what's wrong?" She was utterly confused. One minute he was laughing and making jokes the next he fell over on the verge of tears.

A tear streamed down a cheek and he quickly wiped it away with his sleeve. He looked at her and took a deep breath. "Watch the store. I have to go..I have to find Dutch.."He grabbed his wife's hand and get himself to his feet helping her as well.

"I don't understand James. Why all of a sudden? What happened?"

"I just..its..I just gotta go!" He closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. Tears started to stream down his cheeks and he looked once more at Meg before darting out of the store.

Meg stood there dumbfounded. She didn't understand what caused the change in his emotions and why he had run out so fast and without an explanation for that matter. At this point all she could do was wait.

"EXTRY! WHOLE CITY BLOCK EATIN' BY BOININ' FLAMES! HUNDREDS FALL VICTIM TO DA CONFLAGRATION! POLICE ACCUSE MAYOR OF ARSEN!" A newsie scram the headlines violently waving a paper above his head.

"I'll take one.." Eddie approached the boy holding out a penny. He had wisps of blond hair sticking out from under his hat and a brown eye patch covering his left eye. He smilled down at the younger boy.

The newsy snatched the coin and stuffed it deep in his pocket and forked a newspaper to Eddie. He turned and yelled his headline again, not very interested in Eddies company.

"So how's Pulitzah treatin' you these days?" Eddie asked looking over the front headline of the "World". The newsie raised an eyebrow at him, let out a huff and went back to selling.

"MAYER PLOTS WIT FIRE DEPARTMENT TA BOIN DOWN CITY BLOCK! HUNDREDS DIE!" The newsie tweaked his story a bit this time.

Eddie looked curiously at the kid and then back at his paper. "Hey where's that story you'se "improvin'"?"

The newsie spun around and snarled. "Are you callin' me a liar, mistah!" His face was contorted so it looked like a rabid dog. Eddie started to laugh and the boy glowered even more.

"I ain't callin' you a liar! I know all your little tricks," He let out a laugh again. "I used to be a newsie fer the woild."

The newsie's expressions softened and he even had a brief smile. "Nice ta meet ya, I'se Ratchet." The newsie spit in his hand and extended it to Eddie.

Eddies face lit up and he spit in his hand and shook Ratchet's. "I used to be called Kid Blink. So where's the story?" He face went back to his paper.

"Page four, second column."

"Thanks, nice meetin' ya Ratchet. Tell Oscar Delancey he stinks for me, would ya?" Blink opened his paper.

Ratchet looked at him confused. "Who da hell is Oscar?"

Blink thought for a minute. "Sorry before your time, don't worry bout it.." Ratchet shrugged and walked away continuing to yell his ever-changing headline. Blink looked at the page and gasped. He started to sprint towards Lower Manhattan; the pages of his paper flew out behind him slowly drifting back to the ground. He didn't care; all he could think about was Kloppman.

So that's Chapter 2. I'll update it soon once I get the 3rd chapter up and running.


	3. Old Friends

_Ok so I finally got some more of this up. I had to basically rethink the whole story since it had been so long, so sorry for any style changes and such (it's been 3 years!) and I hope you enjoy it!_

**Chapter 3: Old Friends**

With slight hesitation the filthy fingers loosened their grip on the stack of newspapers. The small heap tumbled into the garbage can and released a deep thud when they found the bottom. The day had been going terrible but despite the major events of the night before Tumbler had no choice but to sell. What little possessions he had actually acquired in his life time were consumed by the flames. If he wanted to eat or sleep someplace warm and dry he had to make a few pennies.

The day had progressed slowly, the time filled with muses of what happened, what was going to happen, and the friends that had not been found. The evening editions were already rolling off the presses when Tumbler had noticed he had almost as many papers as he started the day with. The new edition left his merchandise virtually worthless so trashing them was the only option.

His profit for the day was virtually nothing and he glanced wearily back into the trash at his abandoned goods. How could he have expected himself to sell the day after his home burnt down? The day had been one void of food but tomorrow would be too. What money he made had to go to buy papers if he ever wanted a meal again.

He practically became a zombie. He was walking without direction; his mind so riddled with thoughts that nothing was coherent. Unknowingly of how long he had walked, Tumbler finally regained some consciousness. He took in his surroundings, let out a deep sigh, and ran his hand down his face finally grasping his chin. He was on Dune Street. It must have been out of sheer habit or something of the sort because the lodging house gone and there was nothing here for him. He took a breadth and ventured forward anyways- he was at a loss of what to do anymore.

A small group of people were gathered before the remains of what was once the Lodging House. One story of the building had collapsed onto the floor beneath it. A mixture of steam and smoke was still slithering its way from the charred remains. The buildings adjacent to the Lodging House had suffered as well, one of them was damaged enough to deem it inhabitable which just put more tenants onto the harsh New York streets.

Tumbler scanned the crowd. A few newsies he recognized were looking around obviously in the same lost mind frame as him. A cop was pacing in front of the rubble, probably in efforts to keep civilians out of the ruins. Some women were gossiping loudly about the cause of the fire (a few claiming arson, others blaming the impure ways of street children, the most absurd being a rumor of political scandal – but really who cared enough to see a scandal in burning down a newsboy house?).

One man in particular caught Tumbler's eyes. He was sitting across the street away from the crowd and was seated atop a crate which he most likely pulled from a nearby alleyway. His clothes were worn and faded, like most people of lower class, and he had a cap pulled low casting a dark shadow across his face. A small tuft of brown hair curled out from under its edges. Something about the way he slouched and basic posture just looked familiar.

Falling back from the crowd, Tumbler slowly made his way closer to the lone man in attempts to gain a better view. The shadow across his face was just right, forcing Tumbler within a few yards. He tried to be casual and look unsuspicious so he pulled out a cigarette and held it between his lips without lighting it.

The man shifted his weight causing the crate to moan a long, low creak. He didn't even turn his head when he spoke, "What you lookin' at kid?" he had a sullenness to his voice, "and if you're going to smoke light the damn cigarette..."

Tumblers eyes widened- he couldn't believe it. That slightly acidic tone was all too familiar to him. Though it had been years the voice was one fresh in his mind. Tumbler's lip curled up into his normal crooked smile.

"'Fraid I'm lookin' at a jackass…"Tumbler shoot back as his slid a lighter from his pocket and proceeded to sear the tip of the cigarette.

The man whipped his head around to face Tumbler. He narrowed his eyes and looked the younger boy over before snapping his head back without a word.

"Common mister, did I hurt yer pride or somethin'?" Tumbler egged on, his voice filled with a light frivolity.

"Kid, you better watch it..." Tumbler started to laugh uncontrollably after the man spoke. That's what broke him. The man jumped at Tumbler and pushed him forcefully against the wall causing his hat and cigarette to plunge to the ground.

Tumbler looked down at his attacker (he was a good four inches taller) and held up his arms in surrender. "Hey cool it, Skittery!" He said innocently.

Skittery immediately loosened his grip but did not let go. He keenly studied the face looking down at him desperately trying to place it.

"Common! It's me, Tumbler!"

Skittery's jaw dropped slightly and he released his hold completely, standing dumbfounded. He had not seen Tumbler for four years. The last time he was a foot shorter and fifteen years old. Now the boy was nearly six foot and was on the verge of being a man.

Tumbler scooped up his hat and placed it back on his head; as for the cigarette he blew at the coals to feed them oxygen until they were again glowing bright orange and replaced it between his lips. "Scared ya didn't I?"

Skittery again furrowed his brow and gave him an impatient stare. He virtually was the same as the last time Tumbler saw him. He still had his dark brown hair and eyes to match and the gloomy look that he carried ninety percent of the time. The only difference was that he traded in ink stains for grease stains. His hands were void of the tell-all black stains but instead were cracked and calloused hinting at tedious manual labor.

"You didn't scare me," Skittery snorted, "you irritated me! And what happened to you anyways, you got so big!" His scowl slowly reversed into a slight smile. To be honest, Skittery was excited to see such an old friend. Tumbler had been nearly an adopted little brother when they were both newsies. He had been one of the few that Skittery tolerated day in and day out. Tumbler even got to the point where he imitated his "brother". However time moved on and so did Skittery consequently loosing touch with many of the friends he had once had.

"I grew up. Ya know I'm seventeen now." He smiled proudly and took a deep drag. Upon his exhale he asked, "Where you been anyways? I thought you left this town." Immediately Tumbler regretted his question- if Skittery was the same as he remembered, he was not one to pry at with personal questions. Skittery's face hardened slightly, the last think he wanted to talk about was his current life. He had nothing exciting to tell, nothing to say he had accomplished; instead he found himself trapped in indefinite poverty, a mundane job, and life he felt was worthless. Sadly it was the same situation as the majority of the city.

"I been around..." He answered vaguely and shifted uncomfortably under Tumbler's gaze.

Tumbler quickly fixed his fault by motioning to the nearby rubble. "So how'd you hear?"

Skittery put his hands into his pockets and kicked at the ground. "Sometimes I walk by," he admitted quietly, "ya know? To remember. I was there for along time." In all honesty he passed the lodging house all the time. Being a newsie was the highlight of his short life. It had been the only time he really had friends or a family for that matter. If it wasn't for looking to mature he would still be selling papers. Tumbler nodded in agreement, understanding his friend without having to hear it – he always was able to understand Skittery that way. Skittery creased his forehead once more and continued, "I was goin' to work this morning and saw it. Been here ever since."

It so strange, Tumbler thought silently, he hasn't lived here for so long but it was sill his home.

Skittery sat heavily back onto the crate, again causing it to groan in protest to his weight. Tumbler rested against the wall and slid along it to the ground. The two of them sat in silence gazing at their past. The only movement was the thin line of smoke rising from Tumblers cigarette.

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_One more chapter down! Please review! Chapter 4 is almost done as well so keep an eye out._


	4. Paper Mysteries

_**A/N:** Ok it took longer than I thought to get this up but here it is! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, they defiantly make me want to continue writing! _

**Chapter 4: Paper Mysteries **

The small bell started to jingle meekly when the shop door swung open. Its sweet song alerted Meg to another customer stepping out of the New York sun into her dusty shop. Meg darted out from behind a shelf startling the young man who had walked in.

"Pardon me sir." She apologized politely but cursed in her mind that it had not been her husband. "Please alert me if you have any questions."

The man nodded in confirmation, "Sure will, miss." He flashed a charming smile, pushed the brown hair out of his eyes, and began to examine the shelves of hardbacks.

Where is he? Meg pondered as she resumed shelving fiction novels. James had been gone for several hours and she was worried about what had caused him to turn so white and leave in such a panic. She had looked through the paper that seemed to set him on edge but only saw things about a council election, a murder in the Bronx, and a fire in lower Manhattan. The only clue that she had was that he "had to find Dutch."

Dutchy was one of the few friends James had kept from childhood. She had no idea what his name really was (they all had such silly names, she thought) because James never used any other name nor did Dutchy. He always talked fondly of their days as newsies, followed by the time they spent in the textile factory together. That was all before she knew him. She had only met Dutchy once, at their modest wedding two years prior. The two men rarely saw each other but occasionally a letter with sloppy handwriting and poor spelling would arrive causing her husband to light up and become giddy.

Maybe Dutchy was hurt? But why would that be printed in the newspaper? He is not wealthy or powerful- or maybe he is, I don't really know anything about him.

"Miss." The man snapped Meg out of her trance. "I would like to purchase this." He was holding a blue canvas bound book.

Meg smiled, walked behind the counter and proceeded to make an entry in the ledger. She smiled at the title, "Julias: The Street Boy Out West", and lightly traced her fingers over the gold stamped words before wrapping it neatly in paper. It was a little dated but always an enjoyable child's book.

"It is for my son." The man added. He was tall, but still of average size. His clothes were clean and new, the latest of Edwardian fashion, but he obviously was not comfortable in them. He had the top shirt button undone, lacked a stiff collar, and had his frock casually unbuttoned. It all looked quite absurd to have such nice clothing worn so poorly.

Obviously not originally of any wealth, Meg mentally noted as she tied the parcel. "How old is your son?" she courteously responded. Politeness is the best way to win costumers, even if you aren't interested in what they have to say.

The man snickered a little. "He's not even two," His rough accent was another clue that he was not bred in high society, "but I'll read it too 'im. He's gonna love the west just like I do, I can just tell."

"You're planning quite early. It's nice to see you have such an interest." Meg finished writing out a receipt, "That will be, um, one dollar seven cents."

"Actually could I get a World too?" He picked up a paper from the near by stack and set it on the counter next to his parcel. He skimmed the front page. "Got some good headlines today." He nodded with satisfaction.

"That adds a penny to the total."

He produced a few coins and playfully flipped them to the counter still holding the paper in the opposite hand. "Manhattan fire caused by rioting workers trying to take over city."

Meg raised an eyebrow as she counted the coins. "Improving the truth…"

"Hey how'd you know that? You all ready read today's paper?" He looked back at her with surprise.

"My husband was a newsboy; I know all the tricks of the trade." She smirked, proud of herself for shaking the confidante man.

His smile got even bigger and he started to make himself at home by resting his weight on an arm atop the counter. "That makes since then why you knew I was 'improving'. I never could get rusty!" Boy is he sure of himself, Meg thought. "I was one too, a few years back, one of the best there was, probably knew your boy. What's his name?"

"James Geller."

The man paused for a moment of contemplation then shrugged. "Don't sound familiar." He extended his hand over the counter, "Jack."

Meg smiled and took his hand in a firm shake; she didn't believe in dainty women's handshakes. They only made women look weak. "Megan Geller, nice to meet you. And thank you for your business."

Jack flashed his charming smile again and collected his merchandise. "Thank you, miss." He gave her a wink. As he was walking towards the door he began perusing the front page. Just as he began to push his way through the door he gasped and broke into a run. Several inner pages of the paper swirled into the air and then drifted lightly down to the side walk. Meg had run to the window and was pressing herself against the grimy pane it to see where Jack had run off to.

What was going on today? First James now Jack! Megan was baffled on what was happening. She walked outside and gathered the bits of newspaper that had escaped. This newspaper, she thought, there's something on it that's bothering these boys. She leaned against the wall and began to re-read the front page of the paper. It has to be here I just know it!

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Jack flew around the corner. He thrashed his arms about, using his elbows to push and shove his way through the crowd. Angry pedestrians yelled curses and vulgarities at him, but it did not faze him. Normally he would stop and make some manipulative reply that made it appear as though the other person was wrong – he was good at twisting situations to his benefit. However, this was one of the rare times that Jack had no power. His mind was so full it was blank- clouded by the mental overload of memories, fears, thoughts, and emotions so nothing made any sense.

He reared another corner and made impact with a vender's cart. Oranges and lemons flew through the air and rolled across the cement. The produce did not stop him, only slowed him. He rushed across the street to a simple black enclosed carriage. A single brown draft horse was pulling the cart and its reins were being grasped by a wiry old man with dark hallow eyes and a neatly trimmed mustache which seemed to contrast every other feature of his.

"We're leavin', now!" Jack yelled to the driver as he hauled himself to the door. The driver's eyes widened- it was unusual to see Jack so anxious. He cracked his whip and steered the horse into the New York traffic.

Jack slid the small window which separated himself from the driver open so he could give the old man instructions. The window was barley a foot wide and was positioned just behind the drivers head. "Jordan Dune Street!" Jack ordered from inside the coach.

Jordan raised a curious eyebrow but did as he was told without question. Jack always had surprises up his sleeves. Normally a coach driver would be taking his employer back and forth between a limited number of locations all of which were in a perfectly acceptable proximity for walking by most standards but the wealthy had other ideas about everything. They needed to be transported to the church a block away, Fifth Avenue for shopping which was only a few blocks from most of the city's wealth. Jack on the other hand preferred to visit the common man's New York. The bookstore had just been another one of his many middle class locals which Jordan had taken him. Dune Street however was different than anywhere Jack had instructed to go before. It was in the slums; the area of the city filled with indigents, immigrants, reeked of human waste and was overflowing with disease.

Jack opened the curtains which covered the small door window. He peered out at the pedestrians swarming the sidewalks and nervously tapped his toe on the carriage floor creating a tense rhythm. Many people were of a wealthy class dressed to highest standards and holding their chins at the most fashionable level. Others were a step below, the type of people who had nice well paying respectable jobs but were not born into the excessive wealth of those in the echelon above. This was Jack's place now; he was in-between and uncomfortable with it all. He had not asked to be in such a place of society but merely fell into it by chance. Despite the fancy carriage and neatly pressed shirts, Jack saw the destitute as his people. He looked at them with an envious sadness. They were poor, miserable, dirty, and hungry. However they were his roots and the life that he had lived only a few years prior. In many ways he longed to return- they had so much freedom but on the other hand were trapped by the oppressions of society. If he had learned anything, it was that life was never perfect- money or not.

He had been away from that life for four years now. Time had allowed many memories of life on the street fade as he became more and more engulfed by upper-middle class society. His job and family took up most of his time and what little time he had left over was used to further prove himself to his new peers. The transition to a new social class had not been easy. Jack was used to being at the top and being looked up to by his peers but now he lay at the bottom and had to work for every bit of acknowledgement he could. However, the small article in the paper opened the flood gates the life that he had once known.

The carriage slowed as Jordan fought his way through a busy downtown intersection. The increasing number of automobiles made carriages much harder to control. The hissing and popping of an engine often startled the horses and created traffic disturbances. The delay let Jack get a clearer picture of the passing citizens. One man in particular caught his eye. He was pushing his way through the crowd and appeared to be in a terrible rush. His blond hair was frazzled, obviously it had recently been covered by a hat, and the elbows of his jacket were visibly worn. He was clearly of the working class but better off than many of the immigrants and the lot of Irishmen. The only defining characteristic was a simple brown eye patch that mysteriously covered his left eye.

The carriage began to pick up speed again and Jack strained to look back at the man. He abruptly opened the carriage door and half hung out though the vehicle continued forward. "Jordan, hang on! Stop!" Jack yelled towards the driver and leapt to the ground. Without another explanation he ran back the way that they had come leaving Jordan confused.

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_**A/N:** So there you have it! The next chapter is all outline out, just needs to be typed, this story should only be a few more chapters as of now so just bare with me. Characters will start to intertwine and such!_

_The book Jack bought "Julius: The Boy Out West" is a real book by Horatio Alger in 1874. I found it in the library because he also wrote one names "Lucas: the Chicago Newsboy" apparently they were very popular books at the time. _


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